


Dead Men Tell No Tales

by SomewhereApart



Series: OQHappyEndings2018 [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Iris-verse, OQ Happy Ending Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 10:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15265683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: Iris-verse. With the help of Robin and his men, Regina finally flees Leopold's castle for a new life amongst thieves. For OQ Happy Ending Week, Day 4 (Thursday).





	Dead Men Tell No Tales

It’s so simple that she’s certain it’s going to fail. 

They’re to travel to the summer castle, just Regina and her father—two weeks ahead of Leopold and Snow so that it will be well-prepared for the King’s arrival and subsequent welcome ball for the neighboring gentry. In preparation for the Queen, the supplies and servants had left two days prior, heavily guarded, arriving in time to assure her chambers are ready to receive her. But Regina and her father will travel alone, just a single knight to accompany them. After all, they’re not carrying any riches save the coin for a single night’s lodging in a respectable inn. 

She’d complained to her husband about all the pomp and circumstance of a royal caravan, had said that it was an unnecessary expenditure (something he has far too many of these days, and certainly not something he wants to waste on a queen he doesn’t much admire anyway), and would only draw the attention of thieves and bandits. She’d be far safer traveling separately. If they took one of the guest carriages and traveled without their finery, nobody would be any the wiser that it was the Queen herself traveling the Southern road. 

Surprisingly, he’d relented. Her jewels had gone ahead, as had her lavish dresses, her soaps and oils and fancy cloaks. As Regina sets out on her journey—the last from this castle, though she hardly dares think the thought lest she jinx it—she wears only a simple moss-colored dress, and her favored woolen cloak, the deep berry colored one with the leather trim. She hasn’t often worn it in public—Leopold thinks it’s too plain for a queen—so she thinks she’ll be safe to keep it. 

Daniel’s ring hangs on a chain around her neck, and skittering nerves dance circles around her middle. 

It doesn’t seem like this could be real, but as she approaches the carriage where her father awaits, she sees the guard that’s been chosen to accompany them and her heart skips several beats. 

He’s dressed in thick leather, but no armor (another way to disguise his precious cargo)—Alan-a-Dale, one of the few of Robin’s company who hasn’t managed to make a name for himself with his thievery. His lack of notoriety has served them well—she doesn’t know how he’d managed to sneak his way into the ranks of her husband’s guard, but he’s been here for weeks now, sneaking whispered messages between herself and Robin, helping to plot her escape. He’s the only one within the castle walls who knows. Not even her handmaidens know—not even her _father_ knows.

And now it’s happening.

She kisses Snow goodbye, once on each cheek, for the last blessed time. (Good riddance to her, the little brat.) She promises to see her in a fortnight, and to have the cook make those sweetcakes she loves so much on the day they arrive, and then she steps into the carriage beside her father, and she leaves.

The spires of her opulent prison rise high into the sky behind her, and not for a moment does she look back. 

For the whole first day of riding, she is certain they’ll be caught. Found out. Certain that Alan had had a little too much drink one night and spilled their plans, or that Rumple will be tracking her every move and sniff her out, send her back. She worries the whole time they head westward, with every beat of the horses’ hooves, and her worrying keeps her quiet. 

Her father and Alan make small talk, and she listens to the young thief-turned-knight spin little white lies about his upbringing, his parentage, his employment prior to the King. She doesn’t know him well, but she knows enough to know very little of what he says matches up. It’s just as well; Daddy doesn’t need to know, not yet. And besides, the trees have ears, and they’re not yet into friendly territory.

They stop for the evening at an inn with a good reputation, Regina and her father seeing to the tethering and watering of the horses while Alan hauls their trunk up into their room. Her father has snuck along enough coin for Alan to have a room of his own rather than sleeping in the pub or the carriage, a consideration he swears is in the best interest of the Kingdom. 

“I want you well-rested for tomorrow,” Regina hears him murmur, and she wonders if perhaps her father suspects. But then he adds, “After all, you’re the sole protector of my daughter and there’s no more precious cargo than her,” and she thinks that no, her father is just soft-hearted.

They take dinner in the pub, at a far corner table so as not to risk the slim chance of anyone recognizing them. Her back is to the door, but Alan has a good view of the whole room, and she can sense the moment Robin walks in. Alan shifts in a way, his posture lightens, his gaze flicks beyond her and then quickly away. Regina’s heart starts to beat fast, a feeling like a thousand butterflies rising up in her belly. She has to work hard to swallow a mouthful of wine, has to steel every muscle in her body to take another bite of venison in gravy rather than turn and seek him out. 

Her eyes meet Alan’s across the table and he gives her a subtle wink, more of a twitch really. But it’s enough to make her smile. 

This is really happening. It’s all falling into place. 

In the morning, they’ll be free. 

**.::.**

They stay for breakfast at Alan’s insistence; Regina knows it’s so that when Leopold’s guard comes looking, they’ll be assured she didn’t run away into the night. She stayed and took a morning meal of buttered crusty bread with jam and hot tea, and she left in good spirits with her father and the King’s guard beside her. 

It’s the last anyone will ever see of the Maiden Queen Regina, and it’s not suspicious in the slightest.

Nerves settle in again once they’re on the road, bubbling higher and higher as they approach the stretch that runs along the ravine. They should have done this at night, what in all the realms were they thinking? Stealing away in broad daylight? What if they’re seen? What if they’re caught? What if…

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” her father comments, and Regina can only manage a weak smile.

“I think my stomach is unused to such hearty meals,” she excuses. (It’s not a lie, the venison sat like a brick in her belly the night before; she keeps reminding herself she needs to get used to the idea of things like grilled meats, and rabbit stew, and teas brewed from bark and forest plants rather than the fine leaves of the eastern isles. It’s the life she’s chosen, and she’s glad of it. Snow White can keep her honey cakes and roast swan and spiced black tea, and she can choke on them for all Regina cares.)

“Do you need to stop for some air?” Alan calls back, and Regina glances up to realize the embankment to their left is growing increasingly steep. 

“Yes, I think I might,” she calls back, damning the way her voice shakes with sudden fear. She clears her throat, steadier when she says, “Whenever is convenient to stop.”

They round a bend, and he slows the horses to a crawl, and then a halt.

“We’re fine here for a spell,” he says over his shoulder before climbing down from his perch.

Her father scoffs, a rare moment where he reminds her of Mother, and mutters, “This doesn’t seem a very convenient rest. We’ll be run off the road if someone tries to pass.”

“Nonsense,” Regina tells him. “And I won’t be long. We’ll just use the door on your side and get a few moments of air, then be on our way. The road isn’t busy this time of day, and our guard can always wave down a passing cart before a collision—nobody takes this turn at speed, it’s too dangerous.”

That’s why they’ve chosen it. 

Dead Man’s Pass, they call it—easy enough if you take your horses slowly and your load is light. But a heavy carriage and a swift steed and you might just topple over it to your demise. 

And poor Alan, well, he’s a satisfactory knight but not a horseman. They should have sent someone more experienced to escort the Queen and her father. 

Her knees wobble as she settles her feet on the gravel, jelly-like until she gets a handle on herself. The air outside is crisp and cool on her cheeks, and she breathes in deeply, filling her nose with the scent of pine and leaves and damp earth. 

If she never has to smell another pot of incense it’ll be too soon.

Her father isn’t far behind her, and he notices before she does: “I see why we stopped here; we couldn’t pass if we wanted to.”

Regina looks up and squints, and sure enough, there not a hundred paces in front of them is a stopped cart. 

It will be Robin, she knows—he was to head out before daybreak and beat them here, his men scattered across the nearby woods, delaying all other carriages by perfectly legal and unassuming means to assure their plan goes uninterrupted. 

“Maybe their horse has gone lame,” Alan calls over to Regina and her father, trotting off down the road as if to help. Regina stays by her own carriage, freeing an apple from their provisions and offering it to Rocinante (he’s not a workhorse, not really, but she’d refused to leave him behind, so he’s one of two horses harnessed to their cart).

The sound of another carriage approaching has her heart leaping into her throat, frantic fantasies of her husband’s guard rearing up yet again. Rocinante whickers softly, his nose bumping her arm, a bit of chewed apple falling to her hand and then the ground. The carriage rolls to a stop not two yards behind them, and finally she can see the driver. A large, bushy-bearded man who doesn’t look the least bit perturbed that his roadway is blocked.

He shouldn’t be here. There aren't meant to be witnesses.

“There’s a lame horse ahead!” her father shouts back to him, and the man promptly hops down from his seat (much more nimbly than she’d imagine a man of his size would be capable of).

The man doesn’t answer until he’s within range to speak, and then he sighs a bit dramatically and says, “Terrible luck, losing a horse in Dead Man’s pass. Of course, it’d be worse luck to lose the carriage altogether.” 

He winks at her then, the same wink Alan had given her the night before, and Robin has given her time and again. A hazy memory surfaces, this man’s face across a tavern table many months ago, growing blearier and blearier with drink. 

He’s one of Robin’s men, she realizes. And from his height and his size, and Robin’s many tales, she knows exactly which one.

“John, is it?” she asks, and he grins. 

“It is, Your Majesty.”

Her father stiffens at the title—after all, it shouldn’t be apparent to a stranger on the road.

But Regina only smiles, shaking her head and insisting, “I prefer Regina. And it’s probably safer.”

Robin’s voice catches her off guard, distracted as she’d been by John’s arrival. She nearly jumps when she hears it, jovial as ever and taunting, “You’ll have to excuse John; he’s not very bright.” 

Regina turns to greet him (it’s been weeks since she’s seen him so close, his smile bright and blinding as the midday sun, and twice as warm), as John grumbles something about being smart enough to come up with this plan. She wants to fling her arms around Robin’s neck, cover his cheeks in kisses, but she settles for reaching out a hand to grasp his and letting him lean in to press a swift peck to her cheek. 

“Yes, yes,” he dismisses John. “And a fine plan it is. Now let’s get to it.”

“Excuse me!” her father interjects, unsurprisingly. (For a moment, Regina had nearly forgotten he was there.) “What the devil is going on here?”

Regina swallows heavily, giving Robin a nervous smile and turning him toward her father as John sets off toward the front of their carriage, no doubt to untether the horses. 

“Daddy, this is Robin. He’s… I love him. I’m leaving the King—I can’t stay there and you know it. It’s turning me rotten.” Robin’s fingers squeeze against hers; he hates when she says things like that, but even he doesn’t truly understand the darkness that’s been growing inside her. “Please, Daddy, I’m turning into _her._ ”

“Sweetheart, you’ll be caught,” her father warns. “Taking a lover is treason.”

“It’s been six months, and Leopold hasn’t figured it out—and he won’t. It’ll be tomorrow by the time the servants grow to worry, and we’ll be long gone by then. If they find the carriage, it will be downriver, in pieces, and they’ll assume we drowned after it went over. They’ll look south, but we’re headed back north.”

“Closer to the castle?” he questions. 

“To Sherwood. The King’s guard won’t look there; they hate going there. Somehow they always seem to get robbed on the road.”

She says it curiously, but with enough of a smirk to make clear she’s not curious at all, and when she glances at Robin, he gives her a matching amused frown in return. “Funny that, isn’t it?” 

“Robin _Hood_ ,” her father realizes, his jaw dropping open.

“At your service,” Robin confirms with a bow. “I’ve stolen many a treasure from many a royal, but none so precious as your daughter. I love her, desperately, and I can’t live another day knowing she suffers inside that castle. There’s a place for her—for both of you—in my camp. It won’t be a life of finery, but I promise it will be better than the life she’s had.”

For a moment her father frowns between them, looking to her, to Robin, and back again. Regina squeezes Robin’s hand tightly, and waits, her mind drawn unbidden back to her last attempt at escape. To standing there clutching Daniel and trying to make Mother see sense. Daddy will be different, he has to be. 

He _must_ be. 

They can’t make it this far only to be foiled by her father, of all people.

It’s a long moment—but only a moment—before her father smiles and asks, “How can I help?”

Regina lets out the breath she’d been holding tightly, lets go of Robin’s hand too and catapults forward to wrap her father up in a tight hug. She whispers, “Thank you, Daddy,” into his ear as Robin tells him he can help Regina move her things from her trunk to the one Robin had brought for her. Hers will go down with the carriage.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” her father promises.

**.::.**

It takes them less than an hour to pull it all off.

They free the horses from her carriage and hitch them to the back of Robin’s cart, and swap the plain clothes she’d brought with her for the nicer ones Robin had... liberated… prior to meeting her. Her father’s clothes are left behind with assurances they have more appropriate attire at camp that will fit him. All their provisions for the journey are rescued and split between them (there will be no more throwing away perfectly good food or supplies). And then Robin and his men get behind King Leopold’s carriage and push, giving it a running start to careen over the edge of Dead Man’s Pass.

They listen to it crash its way down through branch and bush, over rock and boulder, until it lands with a splash in the rushing river below.

Regina and her father climb into John’s carriage, Robin with them, while Alan takes the cart and the horses. 

And then it’s done. 

Alan leads the cart out of Dead Man’s Pass, the rest following behind in the carriage, setting off toward a new life.

They reach Sherwood Forest by late-afternoon, and Robin’s camp just before nightfall. There’s a fire roaring in the center of it and plenty of ale to go around. A large pig roasts on a spit nearby, and there are vegetables and fruit, and even an apple pie two of the Merry Men had managed to sweet talk out of a nearby village baker. 

It may not be a feast quite meant for a Queen, but it’s certainly a celebration, and a truer one than any she can recall in quite some time. 

For the first time in a long time, Regina dares to hope for happiness. And the fates allow it.


End file.
